


to bandage your wounds with the salt on my tongue

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, this never happened (I wish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon comes back from Pyke ill; Robb tends to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to bandage your wounds with the salt on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> written months ago for the kink meme - the summary is the prompt. This is supposed to follow TV canon, it goes AU from the end of 2x03. I own nothing, the title is from Gaslight Anthem.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he’s retching. His body is shaking, his vision is blurry and his legs can’t hold him up. He hears someone cursing and grabbing his arm, forcing him to stand up, but everything is hazy and a moment later the world turns black.

\--

When he opens his eyes again, he still can’t focus. The world is a blur, his body feels on fire and he knows his hands are shaking. There’s a hand on his forehead, brushing away hair, and a familiar voice is saying something to him but he can’t hear. He knows he has to be running a fever, but that’s all – he hears himself whimpering before he passes out again.

\--

One moment there’s his father’s angry, reproachful face, his eyes accusing, saying _you’re dead to me_ (Theon should have known from the beginning), and there’s a cold, too large room that smells like sea; the following one, he’s on a bed, there’s sweat all over his face, and the salt is on his mouth. He doesn’t even know why he’s speaking – _you gave me away_ , he keeps on saying all over – and then there’s a wet cloth moving gently over his forehead and cheeks. The light is faint – it has to be a candle – but Theon can see red and a flash of worried blue eyes. _It can’t be_ , he thinks.

“Robb?” he almost whimpers, hating how vulnerable it sounds.

“Yes.” It comes out faint, so low, but maybe it’s Theon who can’t hear right.

“I –”

“Shut up. You’re in no condition to do anything. Go back to sleep,” Robb whispers again, his knuckles running along Theon’s cheek, and he doesn’t have the presence of mind to do otherwise.

\--

When he wakes up again, he’s shivering all over. He doesn’t know why right now he’s chilly instead of burning hot, and he can still feel the lingering pain that he had felt in his last dream when the back of his father’s hand collided with his cheek. And then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he’s been turned on his side, and there’s a warm body pressed up against his.

“What –” he croaks, his voice strained.

“Don’t. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.”

“Robb? Is that you?”

“’Course it’s me. Don’t tire yourself out now.”

That’s when he remembers that he shouldn’t do this – that he’s failed Robb, that it should be _your Grace_ instead and that Robb shouldn’t be here. He shudders, and he’s too weak to move away.

“What are you even – I’m sorry, I –”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. And don’t worry about what I’m doing.”

Theon feels Robb’s lips press behind his ear, and he can’t help thinking that it must be still a dream.

\--

Whenever he wakes up, his memories are as hazy as everything else. Once, he throws up on the floor and possibly Robb’s boots the moment they force him to eat something; another time, he’s sure that Robb is sitting behind him on the bed, gently pushing a cup of water between his lips. Others, he’s sure that he can hear Robb talking to him, but he can never distinguish what Robb says. Whenever he wakes up, Robb seems to be next to him, and maybe he’s hallucinating most of that. He’s a king. He shouldn’t be here.

Not with him.

\--

The first time he wakes up and he actually is coherent, he feels as if he’s going to die any second. His head is hurting, his mouth tastes foul and he just wants to go back to the haziness. But the world around him isn’t blurry anymore, and it probably shows on his face because the moment he hears rustling from a chair next to the bed and Robb sits on the edge of the mattress, he looks relieved.

“How are you feeling?” he asks cautiously, his voice full of concern. Theon thinks he has to be hallucinating.

“Bad,” he settles on, even if it doesn’t cover it.

“The maester says it’s going to pass, eventually,” Robb replies, his hand going behind Theon’s ear, tucking away a strand of wet, sweaty hair.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Theon whispers, not knowing what the fuck else he should say.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“You can’t be serious.” He looks the other way when he says it. He can’t do this. Not right now.

Then a hand is on his cheek, turning his face back up. Robb is lying down next to him, so very close.

“I am. Now, we can talk for real when you’re well, but I think I have something to tell you.”

Theon gives him a slight nod, bracing himself for the worst. He doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s too tired to even think about what Robb could want to tell him.

“You – you talked. Quite some.” Robb’s cheeks flush for a moment, and Theon doesn’t even want to think about it. If he spoke out loud then Robb either knows something or must have guessed, and – damn, if he had been fine he would have never told Robb the fine details of his trip to Pyke.

“I’m sorry,” Robb says. “I had no idea.”

“Me neither.” It’s true – he hadn’t. And he really hopes that Robb drops this, because he can’t have this conversation right now. Or ever.

“You mentioned someone giving you away,” Robb keeps on, and damn. He can’t. But he can’t even go anywhere, can he? “Was that me?”

“No,” he replies, swallowing. “It wasn’t.” _But it could be_ , he thinks, and he hates himself for it.

“Well then,” Robb says, moving towards the head of the bed, “then you just need to know that it won’t be me.”

Theon has no words for that, or for what happens later – Robb moves so that he’s sitting behind him, his arm around Theon’s waist. Theon’s head falls against Robb’s neck, and he wishes he could say something but he just can’t do it – he knows that his eyelids are burning, though, and he’s still shivering. Robb reaches down with one hand, pulls up the covers; it’s so warm now, and one of Robb’s hands grabs one of his own, and he doesn’t know he’s crying until he feels salt on his lips again. He wishes he could force himself to stop, but his body is reacting without permission. He’s still too weak to move away, or to do anything other than lying down and being conscious, and he tries to control himself when Robb’s lips brush against the burning skin on his neck.

“How do they even let you be here? Don’t you have a war to fight?” he blurts, the question nagging at him.

He feels Robb’s lips curl up slightly at the back of his neck.

“Well, thanks to that letter you sent, I have one less on my plate. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure, and what do I do now?” It comes out strangled, and he knows that he must be flushing, and not just because of the fever.

Robb’s fingers curl tighter around his hand, his thumb drawing circles on his palm. “You can worry about it when you can stand upright..”

“But I failed –”

“No, you didn’t. Or at least, not me.”

“I didn’t?” He’ll blame it on the fever later, he knows that. But his traitorous mouth just won’t stop talking.

Robb doesn’t say anything, but then his free hand goes to Theon’s head, forcing him to turn around enough that they can face each other, and then Robb’s lips are against this. They’re cool, Theon thinks, or at least they are against his own, and he doesn’t even try to move away. Robb ‘s tongue darts out to run across Theon’s bottom lip, and he places another small kiss on the corner of Theon’s mouth before moving away.

“No,” Robb says then. “Of course not. Just stop thinking about it.” Robb’s free hand is running upwards and downwards along his chest now, an almost soothing rhythm, and he’s too weak not to just surrender himself to it. He falls asleep again with Robb’s fingers trailing over his stomach and he doesn’t dream at all.

\--

He wakes up again to a cool cloth on his forehead; he blinks once or twice as he feels it against his too warm skin. And then Robb is brushing strands of hair away from his forehead, tucking them behind his ear, and for a moment he’s sure it’s another dream.

“Shut up,” Robb whispers, “or you’ll be a lot more embarrassed when you’re well.”

Oh, great. Did he just talk out loud?

“Just kill me now.” It doesn’t come out as sarcastic as he had intended.

“You’d regret that when you’re better, too.”

“Fuck off then.”

Robb laughs for a moment and then looks back down at him. “Well, if you’re starting to insult me maybe you aren’t that sick anymore.”

“Doesn’t feel like that,” he mutters, but then Robb’s mouth is right against his.

“And does it now?” he asks before kissing the corner of Theon’s mouth, his teeth grasping a small piece of skin as he moves away.

“You shouldn’t,” he replies feebly, but then Robb’s left hand is on his forehead again, his thumb smoothing over a crease. Or brushing away sweat – Theon has no idea.

“Now and always doesn’t mean as long as it’s convenient,” Robb cuts him short, and Theon makes an effort to sit up, his head falling on Robb’s shoulder. He feels a sob rising in his throat when Robb’s hand covers the back of his head, fingers tangling into his sweaty hair, but he doesn’t let it out.

“You’ll be fine,” Robb keeps on saying, right next to his ear, and Theon decides that believing him can’t be  
the worst thing he’ll ever do. 

End.


End file.
